by Jack Bristol
"Maybe I was born with them."
"Are you an alien?"
"Do I look like an alien?"
"You look like a man in a rubber suit."
"Like the suit?"
Her lips twitch. "I've seen worse. Some of the things my students wear …" She fakes a shudder.
I nod at her mug. "Why didn't you offer me any?"
"Hot chocolate?"
"Yeah, hot chocolate. I love hot chocolate."
She drags that dark, gorgeous gaze over me, giving the big red F an extra second of attention. Below the belt, my better half twitches. He's waiting. Poor guy knows not to get his hopes up with this one. "You don't look like a hot chocolate kind of guy."
"What kind of guy do I look like?"
"Like a guy used to getting his way."
"Nope." I fold my arms, lean back. My legs are apart. Maybe some guys cross their legs, but I'm not one of them. "Some things come easy, yeah, but not everything goes my way."
"Name one thing. Apart from me," she adds.
Too bad. That was going to be my one thing.
She's watching me expectantly over the mug's rim.
Ha! I've got one. Are you ready for this?
"I asked an old buddy out for a beer earlier. He said no."
"Why did he say no?"
"His wife. She's a hosebeast."
"I can't imagine why she doesn't want him out drinking with you," she says dryly.
"It's not a me thing, it's an everybody thing. He works, and when he comes home he's shackled to the couch while she watches Reality TV shows."
A light comes on in her eyes. Now she gets it.
"Yikes. Poor guy."
My head bobs. The top one—jeez. The head in my tights is lying there like a dog under the dinner table, waiting on someone to drop a crumb. It's pathetic. Seriously.
"So are they really going to … What did you call it?"
"Neutralize. They're going to neutralize me."
"Will they really neutralize you?"
"You bet."
"That's drastic."
"That's the SuperCouncil. They're mostly retired superheroes, so they seize any opportunity to be melodramatic and exciting. Relive the old days by living vicariously through our pain."
"I'm sorry."
She looks up at me from under long, thick lashes. Around her eyes are the remnants of the day's makeup. It's slightly smudged, smokey. The effect softens her features. Somewhere in my chest, my heart skips a beat or two. She's … breathtaking.
"Don't be."
"I can't believe I'm the first and only to turn you down."
"Hey!"
Her cheeks pinken. Is she … blushing? Now there's something I don't see every day. Or ever.
"I didn't mean it like that," she says quickly. "What I meant was, all those women … Are you saying I'm the only one who doesn't jump into bed with strangers?"
"I am tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome."
"You are, but—"
"Also, superhero here. You're underestimating the allure of a man in a tight suit."
"The only one? Really?"
Even squinting, she's disarmingly beautiful. There's gentle music in the air as she delicately tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
I hold up my hand. "Superhero's honor."
"Wow."
"It had to happen sooner or later, right?"
"Do you think … Do you think they'll keep the boys this time?"
"Truthfully? No. Someone sprung them out quickly and easily last time. The college, I'm guessing."
"Bastards. All they care about is their precious football."
"You've got that right."
Her laugh is sweet, tentative. "Did you play football?"
"Some." I shrug. "In high school. But football and I never clicked."
"I figured you for a football player. The whole …" She waves a hand up and down. "The muscles. That build. You look born to tackle and keep them down."
"It's true, I'm beefcake."
Now her laugh is full and rich. "Yes," she says. "You certainly are."
Keep talking, baby. Both heads are thinking there might be hope. My cock just wants ram itself into her holes, but I want the girl and the cape.
Go on, say it. You like her, Super Fucking Hero.
It's true, I like her. The repartee comes easy. She's smart. She doesn't fall for the bullshit.
She's a rare find—in my experience.
"Is there any other way out of this neutralizing?"
"Nope. They were crystal clear. If I can't live up to the name and the job, I'm done."
"Then what happens? Who are you when you're not Super Fucking Hero?"
"Super Fucking Boring."
She gives me the stink eye.
"Hunter. My name's Hunter."
"It's a good name. Very strong. Kind of sexy." Untangling her legs, she leans forward, sets her mug on the coffee table. On a coaster, of course. The professor doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who goes through life leaving damp rings on tables. There's a precision and economy to the way she moves, as though each movement is part of a bigger, intentional whole.
The effect is arousing. Want to bet she fucks that same deliberate way? I want to change that. Make a cautious girl go wild, for me and only me.
"Hunter." She speaks with a hint of a smile on her lips and in her mouth. "That's the guy I'd like to know. Maybe we could get coffee sometime soon?"
"Sounds good."
"Doesn't it? Maybe you can share some more Byron with me. I love Byron. So romantic, so naughty. The consummate bad boy."
My little head perks up. He knows everything there is to know about being bad.
We're so in.
Trouble is, not tonight.
So we're simultaneously in and doomed.
And now I have to find a 24-hour supermarket. I need hot chocolate.
Nineteen
"Did you bang her yet?"
That's Ethan, the slow responder. We're cruising through a residential area, huge entertainment center in truck's rear. Lucky us, we get to reconstruct it in the room of the customer's choice.
"Nope."
"Damn. That sucks, man."
Tell me about it. Still, the night wasn't a total waste. We had a good time. Amy is smart, funny, honest in a knee-capping, ball-kicking way.
But that's not the story Ethan wants to hear. So I tell him about the carjacker—minus the carjacking and the superhero. And I say it happened to a buddy of mine. An old one, from college.
Nothing but a string of damns from Ethan (I can tell he thinks my imaginary buddy is the luckiest bastard ever), until I get to the part with the man-sausage neatly strapped into Sally Stripper's sexy panties.
Then he just about bursts out of the truck's cab with a yelp. "No fucking way, man. No fucking WAY!"
"Way. Fucking way."
"Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck." Then he looks over at me. "So did your buddy suck him off?"
"No. Jesus. No. Not that he's phobic about it or anything. But … just no, man."
Good old Ethan, he glances out the window. What comes out of his mouth next shocks the shit out of me. "Probably I would've."
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Naw. It's dark, he looks like a chick … Who'd know?"
"Uh, you?"
He shakes his head. "It's been a while. I'd fuck that mailbox over there if I knew I wouldn't get caught. Or that gnome." He sticks his head out the window. "Hey, sexy gnome. Show us your tits."
For the record, that's a boy gnome. The beard is a giveaway.
Unless they're like Tolkien's dwarves.
Not up to date on what's what in Middle Earth? Beards weren't limited to the males of the race.
"You are one sad bastard," I say
I'm not sure if I'm talking to Ethan or myself. Works for both of us, don't you think?
* * *
So here I am, with … oh, an hour to go.
And what happens?
Okay, okay. Someone rings the doorbell. Which doesn't happen too often, let me tell you. Mrs Margarita has her own key, and if there's a delivery, the doorman buzzes up. Last time the doorbell rang it was that twerp Rolf … uh, Messenger Boy.
Look how that turned out.
Not well.
In full superhero regalia, I answer the door.
You could knock me down with something light. A feather or a fingertip. Because standing there, in skintight red pants, boots, and a black, curve-skimming, puffy winter coat, is the professor. Amy.
She flips a little wave. "Hi."
Do I look confused? Because I'm confused. I gave her my name, but only the first one.
"How did you know who I was?"
"I know someone who knows a lot of things."
"How did you know where I live?"
"The same someone I just mentioned. Is it okay? That I'm here, I mean."
My cock launches a protest on her behalf. He wants her to stay. Me, I feel mildly violated. Like someone squeezed my buns on public transport.
Yeah, I get that it's more than a mild violation for girls. But hey, guy here. A piece of us (the cock piece) would welcome an ass-squeezing from a cute girl, in a messed up, conflicting way.
"Sure. What's up?"
She steps past me, into my domain. "I … I'm not here to have sex with you. But maybe I can help."
"Help how?"
"I was thinking I could come with you, to your meeting. I could explain my side to your SuperCouncil and maybe they'd understand that it's not you—it's all me."
It's sweet. I can't say no. Probably, it won't work, but ….
"You'd do that for me?"
She nods. "Call it a thank you for saving me—twice."
"Want a drink?"
She rises on tip toes, checks out the view over my shoulder. Her eyes widen, her lips form a small O. It's impressive, I know.
"How long until takeoff?"
"Less than an hour."
"Time for one drink. Hot chocolate?"
Thanks to my late-night jaunt to the supermarket I can fulfill her drink order. So I usher her into the living room, where the view is superlative, and hike my ass into the kitchen.
It's not empty. Mrs Margarita is behind the big island, motioning me to come closer.
"I must talk to you," she says.
"Can't it wait?"
"Waiting is for unimportant things. This is very important."
"Okay, okay. I'm listening. What's wrong?"
"That woman." She's wringing her hands. Very unusual for her. Usually she punches her way through life.
"Amy?"
"Yes. She will not help you. Make her leave now while you can."
"Why? She said she'd talk to the SuperCouncil. Are you saying they won't listen?"
"I am saying she will not help you."
I put on a goofy smile. "Aww, Mrs Margarita. It's not like you to be jealous."
She slaps my arm. "Who is jealous? I am not jealous. But the third eye tells me there is more to her than what you see in your living room."
"Ooooh, I hope so," I say. "Is she a bad girl? Does she like to be spanked?"
"I will spank you if you are not careful."
Don't worry, I see it too. The ravines in her skin are deeper, the downturn of her mouth steeper. She's genuinely perturbed.
She's not a hot young thing, but I hate seeing anyone of the female persuasion in distress. Particularly someone who is as close to family as it gets without involving marriage or blood. Resting my hands on her shoulders, I pitch my neck so that I'm looking down at her. The distance between the top of her head and mine is mighty. I'm winning by a long foot.
"Mrs Margarita, it's okay. We'll go, she'll talk to them, and then I'll be back. Hopefully as Super Fucking Hero, not just Hunter Forrester."
"You are a fool. All men are the same. You follow that thing between your legs as if it is a compass. It is not a compass. It is a sign always pointing towards trouble!"
The thing is, she's kind of right. But what can I do?
Down in my gut there's a storm gathering. No, I didn't eat Mexican. It's the SuperCouncil thing. Before, everything hinged on me persuading Amy to—as Mrs Margarita puts it—to do the sex with me. She wouldn't. Doom was certain.
Now Amy's giving me a new hinge. Sure it's not as shiny as the old one, but a hinge is a hinge. Her plan is a long-shot (no, not Longshot, he of the Marvel fame—lucky asshole), but it could work. Those old crusts on the SuperCouncil are still mostly male (sexist, I know, but there are more male superheroes. That's a fact), which means I'm banking on their old—what's the British word?—tallywackers perking up for Amy. They'll listen to her.
I hope.
"You are all the family I have, Mrs Margarita. We're not blood, but who cares? I'm doing this for the girls of this city, so they have a chance to grow older and maybe one day make soup for a charming, intelligent, gorgeous man like myself. The streets are safer with Super Fucking Hero out there, watching over them. I'm doing what needs to be done to preserve that."
Tender moment, right? Are you tearing up? That's cool, there's something in my eye, too. Must be a lash. Or dust. I better have a word with my housekeeper.
Yes, I have a housekeeper. You honestly didn't think ghosts keep this whole place clean, did you? It's huge. In the immortal (thanks to the power of the Internet) words of that one woman on YouTube: Ain't nobody got time fo' that.
Oh. Right. I am my housekeeper.
What? I live in grand total of five rooms—max. It's easy work picking up after one person.
"It'll be fine," I continue. "I'll be fine. When I get back, how's about I take you out for dinner? Anywhere you want to go. Lady's choice."
Although it's illogical and physically impossible, her hand really does come out of nowhere. It rushes from right to left in a wide arc, taking my face with it.
Ouch!
"What was that for?"
"You are what my country calls a vlakas!"
"What's that?"
"Stupid!"
I've been called worse. A lot.
* * *
Hot chocolate. Got it. One for her, none for me. The churn in my gut is killing my appetite.
Professor Amy's standing at the window, hands clasped behind her back, legs apart. When she turns, her smile is so big and full that she could be the sun.
See, my appreciation for the female form isn't limited to tits and ass. Although hers are spectacular. I could sink my teeth into that ass right here.
"Is everything okay?" she asks.
No. But I'm hoping I come out of this meeting wearing a huge smile—and the costume, of course.
"Sure." Like my lie? Concise, isn't it? I'm proud of that one. Took me all of no seconds to think of it, too. "Drink up. Almost time to go."
"How are we getting there?"
I grin.
Twenty
The flying never gets old, even in the middle of February, when there's a chance of ice and snow in every forecast.
You know what I need? A wooly cock sock.
Mental note to self: Acquire a cock sock.
That's if they don't demote me to mere mortal.
The girl in my arms is loving this. She's smarter than me 'cause she's dressed for the flight in a thick winter coat that somehow manages to be warm and clingy. I could wear a coat, but it messes with the look. Ever see the big names flying the skies or scaling buildings wearing winter fashions?
Yeah, didn't think so.
Now I'm gonna do something stupid. You're gonna slap your foreheads and scream, "No, Super Fucking Hero! Remember the virgin and dark basement and how she (or he) always dies? Always! Dies!"
I hear you, but I'm temporarily blinded by the beauty in my arms. She's a rare find, a woman who says no and can hold a conversation in which I feel like we're on equal footing.
Okay, and she's smoking hot. But not merely hot—beautiful. Trot her out onto the r
unway and all the other models are going to grab their undergarments and flee the scene. They'd know they're outgunned.
She's the kind of woman you can take home to meet the parents. All right, so your dad would want to nail her, but he'd feel bad about it. And your mother? She'd be wary at first, but she'd come around when she realized just how stunning and smart all those grandbabies would be.
That's all a moot point for me, given my parental situation, but still. Professor Amy is really something.
So when I perform my rare Tinker Bell landing in the park across from the bar, I don't stop to blindfold her. My mind is on the girl, the SuperCouncil, the possibility of taking her on that date—as Hunter Forrester—if everything shakes out in my favor.
Go on, say it. I'm a fucking dumbass.
"Downtown?" she purrs, when as I float us down to the ground. The whole setup would be romantic if not for the winos, the homeless, and the impending doom. "I figured your super-secret council would be somewhere in the middle of nowhere."
"It is—but not in this city."
She answers with a head tilt. It's adorable—really. Makes me want to tweak her nose, then throw her on the ground and fuck her.
"The SuperCouncil is everywhere. In every city, every town—even the podunks. That's part of what makes them Super."
"But where is it? The central hub must exist somewhere."
"No idea. It's not in the handbook, and I never cared enough to ask."
"You're not curious?"
"Sure. About lots of things. But not about this. Probably because every meeting with the SuperCouncil winds up being as comfortable as a chancre on my ass."
"You have quite the way with words."
"I read a lot."
"You?" There she goes with the eyebrows again. You know what they say: If the wind changes direction, she could be stuck like that forever.
Pity. But she's lovely, even when she's surprised in an are-you-fucking-kidding-me? way.
"You didn't see my library."
"You have a library?"
"I have a library."
"What else do you have?"
A hard-on. Well, the beginning of one. But it's evolving fast.
"It's a big place, I've got lots of things."
"A superhero stash?"
"You mean with weapons and stuff, a room where I keep the suit?" She nods. "Yeah, baby." She throws me an evil look. "I mean, yeah, Amy."
